(Or: Why I Travel for Peace, Not Paranoia)
What the hell were these so-called travel “experts” thinking?
I read an article — yes, from a very popular travel site that shall remain nameless (let’s just say it rhymes with Ravel & Leisure) — that said:
“Put your luggage in the bathtub when you arrive at your hotel.
Rip off the sheets.
Look behind the frames.
Inspect the seams of chairs, cushions, cracks, and crevices.
Check the lamps.
Crawl around with a flashlight like CSI: Marriott Edition.
Buy a thermal bug killer.
Basically, turn your vacation into pest control training.”
Excuse me… what?
Gurl, why do you even travel if you’re going to spend the first hour of your trip checking for microscopic roommates?
I didn’t come to Bali to wrestle with a bedspread.
I came to sip mango juice and pretend my problems can’t reach international waters.
Long-haul flights already drain the life out of me — even when I fly flat, eat with real cutlery, and pretend I’m rich.
The only thing I want when I land is a shower, a little exploring, and a Mi Goreng I don’t have to share.
But apparently, I should start my vacation like I’m starring in Law & Order: Hotel Victims Unit or The Walking Dread: Pest Edition. 😂
Flashlight. Gloves. Lysol (spray or wipes — choose your weapon). Fear.
Why stop there? Should I bring pepper spray, door chains, and a portable bug crematorium too?
Also, no — I’m not replacing my favorite makeup palette just to pack a gadget that burns invisible bugs.
That palette is my emotional support shimmer, thank you very much.
It’s not vanity. It’s therapy.
I travel to relax.
I travel to forget that adulting is a full-time crisis.
If I wanted anxiety, I’d just check my email… or my credit card bill.
And yes, I understand being cautious.
But can we stop posting these things in an authoritative tone like they’re the ten commandments from Mount Marriott?
There’s a difference between being prepared and being paralyzed.
And I guess some of these writers are backpackers turned digital nomads. You just gotta choose who you listen to.
Some of them forgot that travel is supposed to make you lighter, not load you with new fears.
If I’m paying for a beautiful hotel room, I’m not going to rip it apart like a forensic intern on their first day.
Clutter creates chaos, and chaos eats away at peace faster than any bug ever could.
Do I put my luggage on the bed? No — because it’s been through more public spaces than my social life.
And honestly, I like to keep my bed pristine — that’s my sacred recovery zone.
Bad feng shui, bad vibes, and bad sleep if I start mixing airport germs with pillow energy.
But a bug surviving a luggage conveyor belt?
That’s not a bed bug. That’s a Marvel villain. Not Ant-man. 😎
I love hotels with luggage racks.
I hang my clothes. I unpack. I use the dresser.
Because living out of a suitcase feels like living half a life — and I’m too old for half-measures. And too old to go walking out with more wrinkles than my skin.
I’ll admit, I sometimes still live out of my suitcase when it’s just a quick weekend in Lake Tahoe to keep my Caesars Rewards points alive.
But that’s strategy, not neurosis. 😂
And for the record — if there’s ever a fire and your suitcase is in the bathtub?
Congratulations, genius. You’re now hotel rotisserie.
(And look, I get the paranoia - my 93-year-old MIL still blocks her door with a chair, so grandma paranoia runs deep. Maybe it’s genetic.)
#HotTakes #HotTubs
I travel for peace, not paranoia.
If bed bugs are my destiny, I’ll deal with it — after crying, scratching, and Googling how much Benadryl I can legally take. Until then, I’m staying exfoliated, hydrated, and blissfully in denial.🩵 Here’s the thing though — the learning part.
There’s a thin line between being prepared and being panic-driven, and social media keeps blurring it.
Every week, it’s a new crisis: disinfect this, fear that, don’t trust anyone, bring your own air.
So here’s what I think: filter what you read online.
Not everything posted in an “expert tone” deserves your anxiety.
When I see articles like that, I start to wonder — what kind of accommodations did you check into, sis?
I’m not judging anyone’s budget, and I’m not making fun of those who’ve actually dealt with infestations.
But let’s keep it real.
I’m from the Philippines — yes, third-world, but I’ve seen enough of the world to know comfort comes in many forms.
I’ve traveled around Southeast Asia, back when “old China” meant no skyscrapers and a restroom was a communal hole in the ground — the same ground they used to fertilize the veggies outside. (And no, I didn’t eat salad that trip.)
I’ve stayed in old historical hotels in Venice and San Francisco, cozy motels tucked in redwood forests, really old ones in Napa, and ultra-boujee hotels in Paris with turn-down service so fancy I felt like I needed to apologize to the pillows.
I’ve cruised on Holland America in a Neptune Suites with have-it-all privileges, and I’ve also taken a ship from mainland China to Hong Kong in a cabin with double-decker bunk beds.
My husband and I love to travel — it’s one of the things we truly click on.
You really see someone’s true colors when you’re jet-lagged, lost, and hangry in another country. That’s how I knew we were a good match — we survived customs, delays, and each other.
And before anyone says, “Well, you only got to travel because you married an American who rescued you from the ashes of the Philippines,” let me stop you right there.
Sorry to disappoint, sissy — I’ve been traveling long before him.
I travel because I love it.
Because the world, for all its chaos and discomfort, is still worth seeing.
And fear — that’s never been my destination.
When I get home, yes, I unpack right away and wash everything — even the unused clothes. That's just habit.
But if I know I'm heading somewhere that might have bugs - like when I went to Brazil or before a camping trip - I plan ahead.
I soak or spray my camping gear and clothes weeks before I travel. And that soaked in solution lasts for several washings if you need to do laundry while on vacation. That's not paranoia, that's preparation.
That’s what practical looks like.
But I’ll never let fear take away the joy of something I saved up for.
I travel for the experience.
Because life feels shorter when you’re older.
The world is still beautiful — and I want to see as much of it as I can while my eyes still focus and my legs still cooperate.
The world is messy, and bad things happen.
But the point of travel — and life — isn’t to dodge every bit of discomfort.
It’s to remind yourself that joy still exists, even if you can’t control every detail.
Sometimes, it’s okay to unpack your worries along with your clothes.
Hang them up.
Let them breathe.
Because peace doesn’t come from disinfectant.
It comes from letting yourself enjoy the moment you worked so hard to reach.
P.S.
If you’re the type who actually inspects every hotel room — I salute you.
Meanwhile, I’ll be lighting a candle that smells like citronella and denial,
trusting that my faith (and housekeeping) will protect me.
And if all else fails, I’ll write about it —
because that’s cheaper than therapy, earns frequent-flyer miles,
and maybe, just maybe, helps someone else travel a little lighter. ✈️😂
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